


The Mispronunciations of Draco Malfoy

by gracie137



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Barista Harry, Bartender Harry, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, One Shot, POV Harry Potter, Random Encounters, Sassy Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 08:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12272961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracie137/pseuds/gracie137
Summary: 'Muggle AU where Harry is a barista and bartender and keeps running into his most stuck-up customer’ aka ‘All the times Harry managed to mispronounce Draco and the one time he got it right.’





	The Mispronunciations of Draco Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little one shot to: one, prove I can write short things, and, two, attempt to write in the present tense. I saw a prompt on tumblr about someone realising they've been mispronouncing someones name for ages, and I thought of this. However, we all know Draco would never let someone get away with it, so that was how Harry being a little shit was born.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and all comments and kudos are the highest form of love.

 

Harry groans and drops his head down onto the counter. It is too early for this shit.

There’s something about working at a coffee shop that makes him never want to drink coffee again. That last one was a lie and he knows it, there is no way he’s going to turn down the offer of whatever weird coffee concoction Luna decides to make this morning. The mint and mango one yesterday had been foul so it couldn’t get any worse than that. He hopes. However, if anyone could prove him wrong, it would be Luna.

The doorbell dings and Harry sits up, trying to look like he really cares about this job. As if there is no-where he would rather be on a Wednesday morning at nine am than here in Brewington’s, serving coffee to his fellow students.

“Hullo, I’ll have one large Ristretto to go,” says a posh voice that has Harry wrinkling his nose. He glances up to find a pointy-looking boy tapping away at his phone. Harry is pretty sure the Queen herself would feel insecure speaking in front of this prat - his accent alone could pay Harry out of his overdraft. “Did you get that?”

Harry blinks dumbly as he meets a pair of frowning grey. The posh boy sighs. “Are you a trainee?”

Harry shakes his head to get himself out of his stupor. “No. Sorry, what did you want?”

“I told Pansy this place was far too unsophisticated to bother with but she insisted,” he huffs, sneering at Harry. Harry is becoming more and more tempted to tell Mr Dickhead to do one. “I asked for a Ristretto,” he says slowly, as if Harry were an idiot.

Harry desperately wants to turn around and start making Mr Dickhead's coffee so that he can stop talking to him. Unfortunately, he has no idea what the fuck a Ristretto is. “Can’t you just order something off the menu?” _It’s there for a fucking reason_ , he adds in his head. He tries to force his best customer smile, although he has a feeling it turns out to be a grimace.

Luckily, Mr Dickhead is too busy looking at the menu in exasperation to notice. “Don’t you have anything decent?”

Harry closes his eyes and counts to three. He wants to go to ten but he has a feeling ignoring the customer that long would not go down well.

“Why don’t you explain what a Ristretto is to me and I’ll do my best,” says Harry, sure his smile is more manic than polite.

Dickhead wrinkles his nose again. “It’s a _restricted espresso,”_ he drawls. He doesn’t need to add _you uneducated moron_ for Harry to hear it.

Harry blinks at him blankly again, he’s getting close to telling Dickhead exactly where he can stick his fucking Ristretto.

“It’s essentially a short shot, even more concentrated than a normal espresso,” he explains, still tapping away at his phone.

Harry nods. “Give me your name and I’ll call you when it’s done.”

He doesn’t properly catch Dickhead's name but he’s pretty sure it’s something like Drago. What a ridiculous name. It suits him.

Harry gets on with making the coffee, which Harry personally thinks is going to taste like tar, but if Dickhead has underdeveloped taste buds it’s none of Harry’s business. He doesn’t care what people like to drink, all he wants to do is finish his shift here and go to his lectures and then begin his shift at the Leaky Pint this evening. He knows that fucking Posh Dickhead doesn’t have to work two jobs to fund his way through University.

“Drago Malroy,” he calls out even though Dickhead is standing just next to the counter, tapping his foot in a way that makes Harry want to stomp on it. He isn’t sure he’s ever met an individual so annoying.

Dickhead head flies up, features contorted with rage. Harry sighs. Now what?

“What did you call me?”

Harry stares at the order form that he scribbled the name on. “Drago Malroy?”

Dickhead's mouth opens and closes like a fish. “It’s Draco Malfoy, you-” he raises his eyebrows and pinches his nose. “You know what, forget about it.”

“I will,” Harry snaps back as Dickhead snatches his coffee out of Harry’s hand and storms off. Harry hopes he doesn’t come back. The arsehole was wearing Gucci loafers and all.

He lets his head drop back down onto the counter and groans. It’s going to be a long day.

                                                      ***

“Oi! Mate!”

Harry manages to duck out of the way of the damp towel Ron chucks at his head just in time. Football reflexes.

Ron grins at him and Harry just flips him off in return. It’s Friday night and he can list a thousand and one places he would rather be than behind the bar of the Leaky Pint. Place number one would be the other side of the bar, actually being able to drink a pint.

It’s been a long week.

“What?” Harry asks.

“I said will you be joining me and my _friend_ for post work drinks?” The waggle of Ron’s brows tells Harry all he needs to know about this friend. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate Ron’s attempts to set him up, it’s just Harry has never actually fancied any of the guys or girls Ron choses.

Harry pulls a face and Ron laughs. “I’m tired.”

“This one is better than the last!” Ron promises.

“I should fucking hope so,” Harry says, shaking his head as he places the clean glasses back on the rack. Ron winces, and rightly so. Zachariah Smith spent the entire time talking about himself and his future plans to run for parliament in some plummy voice that would only be rivalled by Harry's least favourite customer.

The Posh Dickhead -- as Harry's decided to call him -- had come into Brewington’s twice more since their first meeting and Harry had had to resist the urge to throw a mug at his obnoxious head every time. That’s not to say Harry hadn’t figured out a way to make Dickhead's visits more tolerable. His mornings were considerably brightened by figuring out different ways to mispronounce Draco Malfoy.

He had so far come up with his original genuine mispronunciation of _Drogo Malroy_ , he had since then come up with _Dracon Mafoy_ yesterday and _Drake May_ this morning.

“Nah, I promise you’ll like Neville mate, he’s sound,” Ron’s not-particularly-reassuring tone drags Harry from his Dickhead thoughts.

Harry takes another order and then says, “I no longer trust your idea of sound.”

“Okay, I’ll admit Smith was a prat but-”

“Excuse me, but I have been waiting for – oh. It’s you again.”

Harry turns and shakes his head. “Are you stalking me?”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Dickhead sniffs.

Ron coughs. “Do you two know each other?”

“No!” They both protest at the same time before glaring at each other.

“Kinda seems like you know each other…” Ron says.

“Dragon here comes to Brewington’s sometimes,” Harry explains.

Dickhead lets out a sigh and rubs his temples. “How could you get the literal meaning of my name but not the fact I am called Draco?”

“Sorry, Dracko,” Harry apologises with a solemn face, biting his lip to stop himself smirking at the exasperated look on Dickhead's face.

“Right…” Ron says slowly, “I’ll take the other customers.”

Harry frowns as Ron turns back to serving a pretty dark-haired girl. Just leave him with the Posh Dickhead then, whatever.

“So, did you want something?”

“Sorry?”

“I presume you were badgering me for a drink and not just the pleasure of my company,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows.

Dickhead raises his eyebrows back. “You have got to have the worst customer skills I’ve ever encountered.”

“Only for you, Draken.” Harry laughs at the outrage on his face.

Dickhead rolls his eyes. “Two gin and tonics, I’m sure even you can make those?”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Harry promises, trying not to smile. He does not find Dickhead amusing, and they do not have a thing going on.

Harry hands Dickhead his drinks with a grin, laughing as he huffs.

“Took your time. Did you spit in them?”

“Enjoy your drinks Drack,” Harry calls after him. They do not have a thing going. Well, maybe they do…

                                                      ***

Ron was right, Neville is a sound guy. He’d be even more sound if he and Harry actually had anything in common. The first ten minutes of the date had been fine: they made small talk and shared Ron anecdotes. However, once those started to run dry Harry had made his fatal mistake, and asked Neville about how he was finding his Biology course. Thirty minutes later, Harry had to excuse himself to the loo before he dashed Neville’s head against the table to get him to shut up about plants.

Harry can’t tell a fucking weed from a non-weed, let alone the different species of whatever the fuck Neville had been talking about. Harry is an English student for fucks sake.

He leans against the sink and lets out a low groan. The problem is that Neville is so nice. Harry had snuck out on his date with Smith and sent an apology text that he’d come down with a stomach bug but he’d feel bad doing that to Neville. It isn’t Neville’s fault that Harry had never been less interested in anything than he is in plants. Who cares about the different breeds of Oak tree? They’re all trees!

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“You’re shitting me,” Harry sighs, turning at the sound of that familiar voice. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Dickhead sniffs, his usually slicked hair falling lose around his face, “I need the loo.”

Harry resists the urge to chuck something at him. The violence Dickhead inspires in him is something quite terrifying. “I meant _here_ at the restaurant.”

“I’m on a date,” Dickhead says. Harry raises his eyebrows causing Dickhead to roll his eyes, and add, “You needn’t look so shocked that someone may not hate me.”

Harry ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. He doesn’t hate Draco. He quite enjoys the little thing they have going on and it’s not like he can’t see that he isn’t good looking in a pointy, aristocratic way. It’s just, Harry hasn’t considered it before. Dickhead is just the git that bothers Harry at work. He hadn’t ever thought of him having a life.

“I’m on a date too,” he nods, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Oh,” Draco says, “How’s it going?”

Harry tries to find a positive word about his date with Neville but all he can think of is Neville talking about the importance of using the official Latin names over the common names for ten minutes straight.

“That bad?” He smirks.

Harry pulls a face, “I have been considering stabbing myself in the hand with my fork so I have a legitimate reason to leave.”

Draco's laugh is warm and easy and Harry finds himself grinning despite himself.

“What about your date?”

“It’s good.”

“Can’t be that good if you’re stood in here talking to me instead of being out there with her.”

“Him,” Draco corrects and Harry’s eyes flash wide. Despite being bi himself, he’s about as useless at picking up whether or not people aren’t straight, as a toad. In fact, Harry would put money that a toad would be able to spot other gay men faster than him. “Honestly, has my life become so sad that you thought I could be straight?”

Harry snorts and looks over Draco for the first time. He’s dressed in an outfit that Harry would never even think to put together, consisting of tight fitted black jeans and a smart yet soft grey jumper - but that has more to do with Harry’s fashion sense being the ripped jeans he’s owned since he was fifteen and a hoodie. Harry had made an effort for the date and thrown on a white button-down shirt, yet Draco still looks better than him.

“Tragic,” Dickhead sighs, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “So, tell me what’s so awful about your date?”

“He keeps talking about plants.” Draco laughs but Harry keeps his face serious. This is no joking matter, he’d rather slit his throat with his steak knife than have to listen to Neville talk about plants for another minute.

“Wow, that is a new one I’ll give you that…” Dickhead trails off and Harry realises he’s never given him his name.

“Harry.”

“Henry,” Dickhead shoots back and Harry laughs. “Anyway, my date has not stopped speaking about his antique video game collection,” he rubs his temples again. “I’m beginning to think Pansy set us up as a joke.”

“She can’t be worse than my mate Ron,” Harry assures him. He’s never accepting another one of Ron’s recommendations again. No matter how hard Ron begs.

Dickhed artfully raises a brow, “I don’t know about that, did you not hear me mention the _antique_ video game collection?”

“Plants.” Harry deadpans back and Draco laughs that nice easy laugh again. He smiles at him and pushes his glasses back up his nose from where they slip, “Anyway, I should get back.”

“Yes, wouldn’t want to miss out on any of those interesting plant facts,” Dickhead nods and Harry flips him off. “I suppose I’ll see you around, Hagrid.”

“Suppose you will, Drack,” he laughs as he sidesteps Draco and moves to leave the bathroom and return to his disastrous date. The sooner he gets it over and done with, the better.

Draco's parting cry of, “You’ve used that one!” Leaves Harry with a smile that gets him through the rest of the dinner, even if he does refuse an offer of pudding.

He glances around for Draco's as he goes to leave but presumes he must have ducked out early, the video game talk too much for him. Draco didn’t strike Harry as someone who was willing to beat around the bush.

Draco. Harry realises he's been thinking of Dickhead by his actual name throughout the encounter; he supposes it makes sense if they’re going to keep bumping into each other. Draco Malfoy. A strange name for a strange man.

                                                      ***

“What on earth are these?”

Harry glances up from where he’s cleaning the hot water machine to find Draco inspecting the array of baked goods Luna brought in this morning. They’re bizarre looking, but tasty.

“Baked goods,” Harry shrugs, “I’d recommend the pink ones.”

He isn’t entirely sure what they are but they’re nice and sweet. Luna is a great baker even if she could really do with working on her presentation.

Draco wrinkles his nose and leans in to inspect them closer. “Are you sure these won’t kill me?”

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you,” Harry laughs as he turns to start making Draco’s usual. “Who else would bother me everywhere I turn if you were gone?”

“Oh, well now I trust you,” Draco sniffs. Somehow when he’s being sarcastic, Draco manages to sound even more pratty than usual. It has to be a talent.

Harry chuckles. He doesn’t tell Draco that he’s enjoying the fact they keep seeing each other everywhere they turn. He’s not quite sure of the dynamic they’ve got going on but it’s amusing. It’s not like Draco seeing every morning brightens his day but it does provide him with a good dose of amusement. Although, Harry is finding it harder to come up with new ways of mispronouncing Draco.

He hands Draco his coffee and takes the money.

“See you around Dragen,” he waves.

Draco just smirks, “You’ve used that one.”

“Oh, fuck off Drackle.”

Draco laughs as he walks out of the door. “See you around, Potty.”

“Hem hem.”

Harry jumps at the sight of a toad-like woman in pink giving him a firm look as he realises he’s been staring off after Draco.

“Apologies,” he mumbles and takes her order. He is not the kind of person to get distracted by pretty, posh boys. He is not. He’s here to get his degree despite everything the Dursleys thought he’d achieve. He is not here to flirt with boys like Draco Malfoy. No matter how much he wants to….

                                                      ***

Ron’s girlfriend, Hermione, is lecturing him again about how he needs to relax more. Less work, more play. Personally, Harry thinks this is rather hypocritical seeing as Hermione is the one stood off to the side at a party instead of, well, enjoying the party. Hermione is also the person that Harry knows for a fact has brought a book to said party in case she gets bored. Hermione is a flaming hypocrite.

He accepts the drink that Ron forces into his hand with a grateful smile as Ron takes the moment to distract Hermione from her lecture. Harry had been seconds away from telling Hermione where she could shove her opinion, which he doubts would have gone down well.

He makes his excuses and wanders off to leave his friends to do whatever new couples do as he makes his rounds of the party. He hadn’t intended to stay long but he’s now a lot more drunk than he’d anticipated being.

He does shots with Seamus and dances with Luna until his hair is stuck to his head covering his scar. The stupid scar that was the only mark left on him from that car accident that took out his parents.

Harry sips at another drink to push those thoughts away, he’s not in the place to dwell on them.

“Well, well, I’d say I’m surprised Potty but I don’t think I’d be surprised to find you in my childhood home at this point.”

Harry grins. He’s no longer surprised at hearing Draco’s voice in random places

“I could say the same Drabble-”

“Drabble?” A curvy Japanese-looking girl with an upturned nose steps around from behind Draco and raises her brows at them.

Draco smiles at her. “Potty here can’t get my name right.”

The girl’s eyes go wide and she smirks. “Oh, this is Harry!” There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes that makes Harry feel incredibly uncomfortable. He shifts his weight about and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“That’s me.”

The girl’s smirk grows as she glances between the two of them. “I’m Pansy Parkinson and I was just-”

“Just going to find Greg, weren’t you?” Draco interrupts, giving her a firm look.

Pansy laughs. “Of course, I was, darling,” she squeezes Draco’s arm and laughs again. “Nice to _finally_ meet you, Harry.” Draco glares at her and his pale skin flushes.

Harry raises his brows in question.

“Did you know that when I tried to call Draco here ‘Dray’ in year nine, he refused to speak to me for a week for disrespecting his name?”

“I didn’t know that,” Harry nods, trying and failing not to snicker.

Draco glowers at them both. “Weren’t you leaving?”

Pansy laughs and blows Draco a kiss as she wanders off into the crowd.

Draco’s cheeks are still red as he turns back to Harry, hands deep in his pockets. “She’s a nightmare, can’t take her anywhere.”

Harry nods, biting his lip to try and keep a serious face. “Alright, Dray.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

Draco flips him off and leads him into the kitchen to find a drink. Harry follows with no protest. It’s not like there’s much else to be doing at this party. He certainly doesn’t follow him because Draco looks really good in his black jacket. Draco in leather most certainly does not do things to Harry’s mind. No way.

“Pansy made me buy the jacket.”

Draco’s voice made Harry realise that he’s staring.

“It’s good. I mean, good on her! I mean…” Harry trials off and cringes at his sudden inability to speak, “It suits you.”

Draco’s cheeks turn that delightful shade of red and Harry’s mind starts to wander as he considers if Draco blushes all over.

“Thank you,” Draco smiles with an awkward nod of his head. “You look…” He trails off and Harry suddenly wishes he’d put more effort into his outfit. Draco sighs and waves a dismissive hand at Harry’s baggy jeans and tattered top. “I can’t find the words.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t try pretend that’s a compliment.”

“Your clothes have truly left me speechless,” Draco says.

“But not in a good way?”

“You have a unique take on the word _fashion_.” Brilliant.

“That is not a compliment.”

“I personally would never be so _daring-_ ” And Draco is laughing too hard to finish his sentence and no matter what Harry does, he can’t seem to make himself glare at Draco because Draco has a really nice-sounding laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes as Draco bends over to catch his breath. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not that much, I’m just extremely funny.”

“Shut up, Dracey,” Harry grumbles, grinning as Draco chokes on his laughter at his outrage at Harry’s latest abbreviation.

“Too far.”

“Never,” Harry laughs, dodging out of the way before Draco can hit him. Draco settles for flipping Harry off and Harry sticks his tongue out, not caring if it’s childish.

They spend the rest of the night together, gradually getting more and more drunk until they’re stumbling around giggling. Harry can barely pronounce Draco by the time Ron drags him home. He tries to put up a fight, he doesn’t want to leave Draco yet but Ron insists.

Harry dreams of grey eyes and long, pale fingers and wakes up with sticky boxers.

                                                      ***

Since that first meeting in Brewington’s nearly a month ago now, Harry sees Draco Malfoy pretty much every day. If it’s not in Brewington’s with Draco stopping by for his morning coffee, it will be at the Leaky Pint with Pansy grinning at them both – her grin was terrifying – or it will be in any of the other random places around campus.

Harry is no longer sure how he made it through a year and a bit at University without seeing Draco everywhere. Now everywhere he turns he’s greeted by a flash of white hair or the sound of that drawl. The library, the supermarket, McDonalds, the club, the gym. It doesn’t matter where he goes, Draco Malfoy always seems to be there.

Harry runs down the street, holding a folder over his head in an attempt at a makeshift umbrella. Unsurprisingly, it offers little protection from the rain. Harry hadn’t thought to check to the weather forecast this morning before he left his house for lectures, which was bloody stupid of him. He was now freezing his balls off because he had missed the bus.

He glares up as a particularly large rain drop dares to slide off his folder and onto his nose.

“Just fuck off,” he mutters, giving his folder a shake, which only causes more raindrops to fall onto his head.

“And I was going to ask if you wanted to stand under my umbrella.”

“Drac-” Harry catches himself before he uses Draco’s actual name but Draco doesn’t notice.

“Well now I’m definitely not letting you join me under here,” Draco smirks. Harry isn’t surprised anymore that Draco looks fantastic whilst Harry looks like a sodden rat. Draco is in a black duffle coat and skinny jeans that showcase the fact his legs are endless.

“I’m fine as I am,” Harry says, despite the fact he’s starting to shiver.

Draco rolls his eyes and steps closer to Harry with his oversized black umbrella.

“I was fine,” Harry repeats but when Draco makes to move away, Harry steps closer again. “But this is nice too.”

It is nice. Draco’s radiating heat in that huge duffle coat as he smirks at Harry. Harry finds it hard to remember a time that smirk was irritating and not enticing.

“I could tell,” Draco deadpans.

Harry rolls his eyes this time, lowering his folder down and clutching it to his chest. “You’re stalking me.”

Draco flushes and scowls. “I _am_ not.”

Harry grins. “You are.”

“Am not!”

“You know we could just meet somewhere deliberately if you wanted?” He says. He likes the way Draco’s blush darkens. Harry’s not sure what’s come over him but he knows that he’d like to see Draco intentionally for once.

Draco opens and closes his mouth. Speechless is a funny look on him.

“Like a date?” Draco manages to get out.

Harry shrugs. “If you’d like?”

Draco bites his lip and Harry’s eyes latch onto the action.

“Would you like that?” Draco says, all of that confidence gone now.

Harry steps closer to Draco so their chests are pressed against each other. “I’d like that a lot,” he murmurs.

Draco’s hand brushes Harry’s cheek and Harry leans into the warmth. Neither of them say a word as they stand there in the rain. Draco’s eyes are a warm silver up close, Harry notes, framed by pale lashes.

Harry’s not sure how long they stand there under Draco’s umbrella with the rain lashing down around them.

“I should get to class,” Harry says, swallowing as Draco nods but doesn’t move away.

“Me too.”

“So, we’re going to go on a date?” Harry grins.

Draco nods again, a warm smiling on his lips, softening his pointy face. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry repeats. He reluctantly steps back out of Draco’s umbrella letting the rain hit him and plaster his hair to his forehead. He goes to walk away when he pauses and grins at Draco again. “I’ve got a shift at the Leaky this afternoon but I’m done by six, pick me up then.”

“Okay,” Draco says.

“See you then Draco,” Harry laughs, turning away. He only makes it a few steps before he hears splashing feet chasing after him and suddenly he’s being whirled around and finds himself face to face with a flushing Draco Malfoy who’s now soaked too, umbrella hanging at his side.

“What?” Harry says as Draco’s face cracks open into an earnest grin.

Draco steps closer, dropping his umbrella on the floor and cupping Harry’s face. “You said my name.”

“Yeah?” Harry frowns.

Draco laughs softly. “You called me Draco.”

Harry smiles, placing his hands on Draco’s hips. He can feel Draco’s warm breath on his face. “Yeah, I did.”

“Can I urm-” Draco swallows, cheeks and neck blushing pink despite the cold rain.

“Kiss me?”

Draco nods.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, leaning in and closing the gap so their lips brush. It’s soft and gentle, and Harry pulls back a moment later a dumb grin on his face to find Draco smiling back at him. “I’ve really got to get to class now.”

“Me too,” Draco says. But when Draco leans in and kisses him again, Harry can’t find it in himself to protest.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are the highest form of love and I hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> i'm on tumblr as [@gracie137blogs](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com)


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